courtesy of her own grandfather who had made it all possible.
Then
The day had begun brilliantly. It had been the start of the long Christmas vacation and the tropical North had been on the verge of the Wet. Troppo time, as it was known, but the arrival of the monsoon had also coincided with a prodigal paradise. Nature had shown itself at its most glorious and extravagant best. The vast tropical landscape had budded, swelled then burst into flamboyant flower accompanied by scents so sweet and aromatic they had filled the immediate world. The great crimson arches of the poincianas had lent welcome shade while colouring the air. The tulip trees had broken out their lovely orange cups, and the cassias had spilled yellow blossom in a wide circle beneath them. It was like being caught in a spell.
It was Aunt Lisa who decided they would go on a picnic. “What do you think, Paradise Lagoon?”
Where else?
Aunt Lisa had chosen the town’s most beautiful cool haven, a lush, park-like reserve dominated by a deep emerald lake with its gorgeous mantle of a thousand tropical waterlilies, all blue and all planted by her family, recognized experts on waterlilies and all manner of tropical plants. There was the Whitaker with its gigantic lavender blue blossoms and bright yellow stamens; the Trickett, a Campanula blue and her dead grandmother’s favourite; the star-shaped Astraea that held its lovely head so high above the water the flowers could be seen from quite a distance. Even the low stone wall topped by tall wrought-iron railings was a living glory with bridal white bougainvillea in foaming extravagance vying with the lagoon’s glorious lilies.
They set off happily in Aunt Lisa’s car, feeling not a shadow of concern, when one of the town’s characters, named Snowy, and quite a drinker, claimed to have spotted a “saltie” at the far end of the lagoon a few weeks back.
“Watch out for that fella now,” Snowy had warned in the pub, brandishing his schooner aloft. “Plenty big enough. Round six metres, I reckon.”
That had raised a few laughs. Most people thought what Snowy had seen was a thick forward floating log, although his claim was checked out as a matter of course. This was crocodile country after all. Anywhere north of the Tropic of Capricorn was.
People lived with their crocodiles. The trick was never to venture into a crocodile’s territory. Australia’s salt-water crocodile was one of the largest reptiles in the world. Crocs would take anything that strayed too near the water—humans, cattle, even big buffaloes, horses, dogs; anything in the water, turtles being a delicacy. Only a crocodile had never been sighted in Paradise Lagoon for more than a decade. Back then a young Japanese tourist who’d had far too much to drink had decided on a midnight swim despite the warning signs in several languages, including Japanese, and his equally intoxicated mate shouting at him not to be a fool. The mate had got it right. A crocodile had been lying in wait for just such a heaven-sent opportunity. It had snaffled up the hapless young man, subjecting him to the death roll before stashing him away at the bottom of the lagoon until such time as it was ready to feast.
That tragic event had horrified the town. The crocodile, although a protected species, had been shot dead and the lagoon trawled in case it had had a mate. No mate had been found. The town breathed a huge collective sigh of relief. Everyone knew the Wet was breeding time. The female crocodile, much smaller than the male, laid her eggs, some 40 to 60, along the banks of rivers, billabongs and lagoons. No human or animal had been taken in the intervening years and no nests spotted anywhere amid the density of the aquatic reeds and grasses. Still, there was perpetual vigilance. Crocs had been known to come with surprising speed across land in search of more congenial lagoons.
The town loved its parkland but no one swam in the lagoon. That was strictly forbidden. No local was that much of a fool anyway. Most people had swimming pools. Paradise Lagoon was a favourite picnicking spot. There was a special playground for the little ones and excellent barbeque areas with dining rotundas adjacent for family occasions. Bicycle paths. Walking paths. Children under the age of twelve who entered the parkland had to be under the supervision of an adult, though the danger of going near the water was drummed into children as toddlers. Even little kids heeded the message. Crocodiles were not friendly. Crocodiles ate people.
Not a problem for them. They were with Aunt Lisa. So there was Lisa, baby Ella, herself and her best friend, Tulip, both of them nine years old, in the same class at school. Up until that day she had enjoyed an idyllic childhood, the privileged and adored only child of Lyle and Allegra Templeton. The Templetons were the richest family in the entire North. Her grandfather, Leo Templeton, had as a young man inherited a pastoral fortune worth millions. Leo’s father and his father before him had built up the Templeton fortune with sheep and cattle; Leo Templeton had taken it to new heights as a result of his own Midas touch and clever diversification. The family now controlled multiple enterprises, all of them highly successful. Her parents were the town’s most popular young couple. She, as her grandfather always claimed, was the jewel in the Templeton crown.
“Not a girl alive who can touch you!”
Of course he was biased in the extreme. But she was liked by everyone and she felt she would have been even if her name hadn’t been Templeton.
They picnicked on the delicious food Aunt Lisa had packed into her state-of-the-art picnic basket—little chicken and mushroom pies, scotch eggs, ham quiche or sandwiches, washed down with cold sparkling apple juice followed by some lovely, fudgy brownies if they had room. They did. Baby Ella, eighteen months old, sat happily in her stroller, staring adoringly at her mother with her radiant blue eyes. Afterwards Clio and Tulip lay back on the grass, eyes closed, talking about all the things nine year old girls talked about—school friends, movies, pop idols, the new bike Tulip had graduated to, her ballet lessons. Aunt Lisa casually read a book, Ella gurgled her pleasure in the beautiful day.
Before they returned home they took a leisurely walk around the park, admiring the brilliantly plumaged parrots and lorikeets that thronged the trees. At one point Aunt Lisa’s mobile rang. She and Tulip continued on walking while Aunt Lisa turned away to answer her phone.
That’s when it happened.
The stroller with a plump, wriggling toddler in it moved slowly but very worryingly off the path. Without its brake applied, it began a slow downward slide over the grass, picking up speed so its progress eventually turned into a freewheeling hurtle. A tree or a shrub might have stopped its progress, but there were none in the way. The slope was not significant yet the stroller with Ella in it was taking a dead straight path to the water, covering the not-inconsiderable distance to the lagoon in heart-shaking seconds, before plunging into the deep emerald depths and disappearing out of sight.
Aunt Lisa, turning back in alarm, dropped her mobile, screaming her unspeakable terror. Some residents said afterwards they heard her screams half a mile away. Tulip, heart in her mouth, fainted, her slight body swooping to the grass. Clio stood paralysed, knowing when her limbs unlocked she would have to take a header into the lagoon to save Ella. She was a good swimmer, but like everyone else she had never ventured into the lagoon, said to be fathomless at the centre. But this was a life-and-death situation.
She gathered herself, mumbling a prayer, only at that precise moment, out of nowhere, a tall, athletic boy with a thick shock of hair that glinted gold in the sun suddenly materialized. He was moving as fleetly as a young lion loping down the grassy slope before diving so cleanly into the lagoon scarcely a ripple broke the surface.
People were charging across the reserve now, not quite knowing what was happening but ready to offer any help that was needed. No one was ever free of the fear of crocodiles. Everyone knew Aunt Lisa. She was a Templeton after all. Everyone knew about adorable Baby Ella. But where was Ella? They had the answer in moments. A roar of relief
